


Payoff

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Follow the North Star [39]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 19:25:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12800724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: So, like.Getting fucked is kind of awkward?





	Payoff

So, like. 

Getting fucked is kind of awkward?

Well, it’s not so much the fucking specifically. Okay, it kind of is that, but also the fact that Harry keeps hysterically thinking ‘oh my god I’m about to lose my virginity to Roman Novak’, even though that’s ridiculous because like, he lost his virginity at seventeen and also what even is virginity? Annie says it’s a social construct. Annie’s usually right about those kinds of things. Plus like, what makes a dick in his ass any different than the dildos he does have experience with, other than being not inanimate and also attached to a living breathing human being? Nothing, obviously.

So yeah, the getting fucked thing is kind of awkward, but it’s also the fact that he’s got both Evan and Roman focused on him, and it all seemed to flow pretty well when Evan’s dick was in his mouth and Roman’s attention was on Evan, but two sets of eyes feel like a lot, two bodies hemming him in, two people he feels — well, he loves Evan, he’s pretty sure, and Roman…he feels _something_ for him, who knows what, and it’s just all —

Harry is kind of freaking out, and that’s before Roman says they’re going to have to switch up the positions because he can’t fuck him this way, so instead of Evan being this warm comforting presence against his back, his eyes on Harry just kind of assumed, maybe felt, instead he’s straddling Evan’s legs, and Evan’s gaze is undeniable because it’s right _on_ him.

“Heeeey,” Harry says. From this angle Evan’s dick is also undeniable. Not that it isn’t from any angle, seriously, dude’s packing, but basically face to…dick…it is impossible to be unaware of it, and the fact that Evan is hard. Like, really hard. Harry’s taking it as a compliment, since the only real stimulus he’s had is a couple kisses and watching Harry getting fingered. Which, okay, Harry would be really hard were their roles reversed, because obviously, but that’s because Evan’s smoking. Harry is — Harry’s Harry. He’s made his peace with it. “What’s up?”

Oh man, that was terrible.

“That was terrible,” Roman mutters, flicking the back of Harry’s thigh. Harry reaches a hand back for the sole purpose of giving him the finger. He’s decided that it was actually great, and Roman just can’t appreciate great things. Other than Ev, obviously.

“I’m twenty,” Evan says defensively. “And you’re having sex in front of me.”

“I’ll have sex _with_ you if you want,” Harry says. “Help you out with that.”

Evan laughs. “You’re kind of busy.”

“I’ve always been a good multi-tasker,” Harry says.

Evan looks doubtful.

“I can jerk you off at least,” Harry says. He may be a good multi-tasker, but it doesn’t seem like a good idea to try to split his attention between blowing him and getting fucked. That seems like a lot. This all seems like a lot, and maybe multi-tasking will get Harry’s mind to quit going a hundred miles an hour. Probably not, but a guy can hope. “Don’t doubt my skillz.”

“I’m not doubting your skills,” Evan says.

“Skillz,” Harry corrects.

“I just said that,” Evan says.

“Pretty sure he means it with with a z,” Roman says. Harry would be more impressed Roman realized if he didn’t say it with that much sarcasm. Asshole.

“Mad skillz,” Harry says. “I got you, babe.”

“Yep,” Roman sighs. “With a z.”

*

Harry is a terrible multi-tasker. Well, Harry is a decent multi-tasker generally, and he’s gotten so much practice jerking off in his lifetime he’s pretty sure he could do it in his sleep, but in his sleep is one thing and it’s whole other thing —

It’s whole other thing when Roman’s pushing into him, not as fast as Harry’d like, but probably as slow as he needs, inexorable. He’s familiar with blunt pressure, and he’s taken toys this size, maybe even bigger, but it feels completely different, more. With toys he can control pace, force, knows that every single movement is his own movement, that he’s doing it to himself. Right now everything’s in Roman’s hands, and Harry’s not in control at all. It’s kind of terrifying.

“Roman, stop for a second?” Evan says.

Roman does, like, immediately. Harry would be impressed if he wasn’t furious. He can’t push his way through the freak out if he keeps getting interrupted.

“What’s this—” Harry gets out, before Evan gently uncurls Harry’s fingers from around his dick, and Harry belatedly realizes he’s done absolutely nothing other than hold it, and his grip’s probably tightened to the point of painful. Fuck.

“Shit, sorry,” Harry manages. “I’ll try—”

“You need both hands to hold yourself up,” Evan says.

Harry is dimly aware the arm he’s holding himself up with is shaking. “Okay,” he says. “Yeah. But you—”

“I have hands,” Evan says. “Just focus on you, okay?”

Harry nods, drops onto both hands. It changes the angle just enough that everything lights up, must do something for Roman too, considering the bitten out ‘fuck’ he exhales, the way his fingers tighten around Harry’s hips.

Harry lets out a breath, too ragged.

“Okay?” Roman asks.

“Yeah,” Harry says, and when Roman doesn’t move. “You can get on with it now, you know.”

“Quit rushing me,” Roman says. His voice is tight, and Harry knows exactly why: the control it takes to stop in the middle of things is insane, especially balls fucking deep. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever had that level of control in his life. He’s kind of surprised Roman does. “You want me to move?”

“Obviously,” Harry snaps. “I literally just said—”

“Harry,” Roman says. “You need a minute?”

Harry thinks about it. He’s pretty good at taking stock of himself physically, needs to be on the ice, to know if he’s winded or injured, if it’s something he can play through or something playing through will make worse. He does that now, from his arms, more stable now that he’s braced on both of them, to his knees, planted in the mattress, which is soft enough they can handle it a bit longer, and finally to the obvious. 

It doesn’t hurt. Roman took his damn time prepping him, so it isn’t even uncomfortable, beyond that initial discomfort he knows will fade — or maybe it doesn’t, maybe it’s always present, just gets superseded by the pleasure, nerves only capable of sending the strongest signal to his brain. Physically he’s good, except for his breath, coming too fast for the circumstances. Which is a symptom of the problem, not the problem itself.

“Kay,” he bites out. “A minute.”

Roman shifts, which sends a jolt through him, not unpleasant but on the edge of too much. He kisses Harry’s spine, something more beard than mouth, scratchy and almost ticklish, counterpointed by Evan’s fingers coming up to stroke through his hair. It’d almost be relaxing, except, well. There’s a dick in his ass, so. 

It’s still kind of relaxing, honestly. Like, dick: absolutely present in his ass, but Evan’s got a rhythm going and Roman’s presence is practically a physical weight blanketing him, and Harry’s breathing is almost back to normal. He has zero doubt whatsoever if he told Roman to pull out he’d do it as fast as he stopped when Evan told him to, and he _thinks_ he knew that before, or like, assumed, but now he _knows_ it, and for some reason that’s the biggest thing, the thing that has him saying, “Okay, I’m good. And if you ask me if I’m sure one more time I’m going to—”

Roman does not ask him if he’s sure, thank fuck, just tightens his fingers around Harry’s hips, ten points of pressure, and finally _moves_.

There’s a lot? Harry doesn’t know how to describe it, just a _lot_. Roman’s fingers digging in, not painful, exactly, but firm enough that Harry feels like he’s going to have ten tiny bruises, painless but dark. The bead of moisture on the head of Evan’s dick that Harry wants to shift forward and _taste_ , but doesn’t trust his coordination enough to attempt it. Evan’s eyes on him, all over, raking over him, so intent that Harry half thinks his gaze is going to leave bruises too. The punched out exhale it takes Harry a moment to realize is his. 

Roman’s balls slapping his ass, which is weirdly undignified, and where the hell is Harry’s head right now, thinking of fucking dignity while he’s sandwiched between two of the hottest people he’s ever met — or at least two of the people who’ve made him the hottest, sexually and irritation wise. Evan fisting himself, slow and patient, more slow than Harry would have gone in his place, and his eyes, always his eyes.

The way Harry feels like he’s getting lit up from the inside, nerves singing, hands fisting in the covers they never bothered to turn down, shifting forward a little with the power of Roman’s thrusts, which is good, right, nothing in him holding back now, nothing in the way he’s fucking Harry that would suggest that he was the kind of guy who _would_ hold back, but he did, he waited until it was perfect, and it’s goddamn perfect, or would be if someone would just —

Roman’s hand leaving his hip, Harry’s skin tingling like it’s still being held, his hip an anchor for Roman’s hand or Roman’s hand an anchor for his hip or _something_ , and wrapping around him and now it’s perfect and he’s not going to be able to —

Harry is vaguely aware of Roman asking, voice on the verge of fraying, if he can keep going or if Harry wants him to pull out.

Harry would give him a thumbs up, but he’s worried if he lifts a hand he’ll go tumbling down and impale himself on Evan’s dick. Awesome way to go, but maybe not right now.

“Thumbs up,” he mumbles, and Roman’s still laughing, breathless, when he comes after less than half a dozen strokes that hover on the border of too much. It suits him just as well as Evan apologizing, just as breathless, when he accidentally stripes Harry’s neck with jizz.

Harry is disgusting, and exhausted, and he can’t feel his toes, and it’s awesome. That feels like too much to say, though, so he goes with, “I’m dead.”

“My work here is done,” Roman says. He sounds annoyingly smug. Harry would bring his ego back to where it should be, but Roman fucked the argumentative out of him.

Well, mostly.

“Not til you clean me off,” Harry says. “I’m disgusting. Someone came all over me. And in me.” 

Thank fuck for the condom, or he’d _really_ be a mess right now.

“Sorry,” Evan says again, then helps Harry move into a comfortable position, so he’s officially forgiven. If he had anything to be forgiven for, which he does not, but hey. Assistance.

Assistance also arrives in the form of Roman going to the bathroom and returning with a wet cloth. Harry half expects Roman to throw the face cloth at him, but he doesn’t. He wipes Harry’s throat off, efficient but gentle about it, then moves to sit at the edge of the bed and wipe remnants of lube off Harry’s thighs until Harry, coloring, smacks his hand away and liberates the cloth to wipe himself off. He should return it to the bathroom, but he’s run out of energy, so instead he lobs it in Roman’s direction.

“Nice shot,” Roman says when it smacks wetly against his chest, half sarcastic and half not, then brings it back himself, so it’s doubly a success. Harry won’t tell him he was aiming for his face.

Evan presses his cheek against Harry’s shoulder. His knee is digging into Harry’s calf, but Harry doesn’t mind too much. He turns his head to attempt a kiss and basically gets a mouthful of Evan’s hair, which he minds a _bit_ more, but still not enough to complain about.

“Budge over,” Roman says, and Harry does his best, squirming until he’s more under Evan than beside him, on his side to give Roman enough room to lie down without hanging off the mattress. This reminds him of whenever the guys end up four to a car. Harry’s always the one stuck in the middle seat, shoulders practically caving in on themselves. More comfortable, though, and less stoically pretending you’re not pressed shoulder to ankle with another dude. Not that he isn’t pressed skin to skin with either of them, but that’s not exactly a big deal after the rest of the stuff they’ve done tonight. 

“Time’s it?” Roman asks, sounding drowsy.

Harry shrugs loosely so he doesn’t dislodge Evan. Early, probably. The sun’s down, but it’s winter, so that doesn’t mean shit. Definitely not a reasonable hour to go to bed, but today was surprisingly exhausting, considering he spent most of it sitting around a hotel room. From the way Roman sounds and the long shadows of Evan’s lashes as he blinks slowly, he’s not the only one who’s tired.

“Not it to turn off the lights,” Harry says.

Roman groans but gets up without arguing, and Harry watches him pad over to the light switch. His ass truly is massive. Like, definition of a hockey ass.

“Your ass is massive,” Harry says through a yawn as Roman lies back down beside him. The hair on his chest is a lot less scratchy than his beard, and Harry fights the urge to roll over and use his chest as a pillow, only succeeding because to do that he’d have to move out from under Evan, which he’s obviously not going to do, especially because Evan looks like he’s most of the way asleep now.

“Thanks?” Roman says, and his half laugh puffs against the back of Harry’s neck.

Harry thinks that if they weren’t all fucked out, figuring out sleeping arrangements would have been a little more difficult, because logically they can’t comfortably fit on this bed. Except apparently that isn’t true, at least as long as Harry doesn’t mind that Evan’s half overlapping him in a way that means he’s going to wake up with some numb extremity, doesn’t mind the way Roman’s tucked up behind him, a warm line against his back in a way that means he’s going to wake up too hot. Doesn’t mind Roman’s hand heavy on his hip, and Evan’s hand moving to curl around Roman’s.

As long as he doesn’t mind any of that, they fit.


End file.
